


forever in the sun since you came along

by anamoon



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, I'll add more as I go, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr, fluffy angst tho?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamoon/pseuds/anamoon
Summary: An all-over-the-place collection of little prompts I answered on tumblr (mostly canon Peraltiago).





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the-pontiac-bandit asked: join me or nurse me!! (for peraltiago OBVIOUSLY)
> 
> Leave a “Join Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character giving another character an offer [be it a proposal for an alliance, asking them to join them in an activity.]

By the time the tiramisu arrives, Amy is already lightheaded from laughter and wine. The weight of the past months has already slid neatly off her shoulders, her mind airily tuned to her boyfriend across the table and the bustling restaurant around them. And it isn’t quite normal, not with her crimson dress and Jake’s tux, but after so long apart, it’s nice to dress up and act as if they’re a regular couple with extravagant date nights and fancy suits.

(It certainly beats their latest routine of scheduled prison visits and security checks. Sometimes she finds herself keeping track of the minutes in her head, only to remember no one’s coming to take him away this time.)

The idea was hers, spawned from evening after evening spent draped over the couch with takeout and missed show recordings. Though as pleasant as it was to curl around Jake until the nightmares of the past were a distant memory, they were in desperate need of a celebratory night out. And real food.

The delayed celebration is better in the end; they’ve had enough rough nights of choked sobs and arguments to find their way back to each other. So when Jake recounts gross exaggerations of tales as an inmate, Amy laughs. And when she acts out the wild cases she’d solved without him, he widens his eyes and gasps at all the right moments. Despite all the odds stacked against them from the start, they’ve returned to their routine ease.

It’s a curse, perhaps, how quickly she falls into that ease, the blush staining her cheeks darker throughout the evening as she laughs and runs through glass after glass of wine. And when the night grows softer, she traces his features in the glowing orange light while he speaks; from the quirk of his lips to the lightly disheveled ends of his hair. To his eyes, crinkled in smiles or sparkling with his newest outrageous idea, but always meeting hers in that gentle way that picks up her heart rate and races it to the finish line, the breath sticking in her lungs as it’s left behind.

Or maybe that’s just love—all consuming yet warm where it sits in her chest and her cheeks and her fingertips, like a fire beckoning her home.

(At the end of the night, she won’t be able to pinpoint quite what finally pushed her. Nor will it matter. Not with the city lights fragmenting through her ring as she lifts her hand to the window. Not when her fiancé softly kisses her forehead in his final drift towards sleep.)

But there, with her aching cheeks and waning inhibition, the words “Do you want to get married?” tumble off her lips before she can think twice.

The gravity of her question doesn’t strike her until she’s reaching for another bite of tiramisu, and the clacking of her fork against the plate amplifies the sudden silence at their table. She drops the fork as she realizes, weighs her damage. It’s not as if they’ve never mentioned marriage before in offhand remarks and hushed conversations under blankets, but this breaches new territory. She can’t figure out the safest way to proceed.

When she finally glances up at Jake, she’s expecting trepidation, but his eyes hold a familiar warmth instead. Not even a hint of worry or alarm, not anything remotely near the thoughts spiraling through Amy’s head. His lips even quirk up, on the verge of a laugh.

“Did you just propose to me?”

She falters. “No! Maybe?”

As she tucks her hair back, cheeks warming, weeks of nights spent tracing over photo album pages comes to mind. They morphed into scrapbooking and note taking, anything to keep herself from drowning in the silence of her apartment. And at some point, during a weaker moment, she found herself curled at the foot of the bed with a freshly purchased ring, pages and pages of lined paper detailing a better future. There are, she supposes, worse things in this world than being married to Jake Peralta.

“At least do it properly,” Jake continues, taking the opportunity to steal more than his fair share of tiramisu.

“What?”

His eyes glint. “You know. Get down on one knee. Hold out a ring?”

Admittedly, every time she went through this moment in her head, she was the calm and composed one, while Jake anxiously babbled away. But now, the best she can manage is to lamely sputter, “I don’t have a ring.”

“Well,” he says, reaching into his inner coat pocket, “lucky I do.”

“Wait, were you—? You weren’t going to propose tonight, were you?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I’ve just been carrying this around with me. Waiting for inspiration to strike or something.” 

And with that, the building tension within her heart and lungs overflows, her abdomen flooding and twisting, because he’s been waiting, too, for a future where no one can separate them again. It settles as quickly as it starts, her overwhelming surety kicking in. This is it. This is real, and her boyfriend is offering her the ring he bought for her who knows how long ago, but she can’t take it, not when he came so prepared, not when he’s still looking at her like _that_ — 

“Well, if you won’t do it, I will,” he says.

“Go ahead,” she whispers.

He hesitates, preparing himself with a deep breath before standing up from his chair and slowly taking the few steps towards hers. Amy keeps her eyes over his shoulder, certain that if she sees his face, sees the ring he pops open, that she’ll start to cry. But he’s silent for too long, so she pulls her eyes over to his face. He’s balanced on one knee, also avoiding her eyes, perplexed.

“Crap, I didn’t plan anything to say.”

She can’t help but laugh, wiping away the tears beginning to well in her eyes and placing her hand on his. He finally meets her gaze, eyes wet as well.

“This is going terribly, isn’t it? Should I start again? Maybe add some flare or—”

“ _Jake_.”

“Oh, right, right, right, yeah. Um. Will you marry me?”

Leaning over in her chair, she presses her forehead to his, letting her tears fall as freely as they wish. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

He laughs, lifting up his chin to kiss her, and half missing her mouth from the blind glee. She tries to grip his shoulders and support herself as she falls into him a bit more, laughter overcoming them both. Eventually, he pulls her down with him where he can better hold her, the ring case digging into her spine. Amy hiccups as she tries to kiss him again, and she can feel his grin against her lips. Distantly, she’s aware of the restaurant clapping around them, but Jake’s finally composed himself to kiss her properly, and she focuses on the way it makes her heart skip, the way she can feel his heart beating just as quickly as her hand grazes his chest.

(And perhaps it’s just a coincidence—the universe doesn’t take suggestions from wedding vows after all—but they’re never forced apart from each other again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting myself back into that #writingscene after a long hiatus dealing with mental illness and i'm! excited! to! be! back!
> 
> feel free to send me prompts/yell with me on tumblr @johnnydora!! i love you all <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: I suck at headcanons so do you have any about Jake & Amy + dancing? Since Jake is actually a good dancer I feel like there could be some cute stuff with that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea why I wrote this without capitalization but I'm kinda feeling that Mood

**1.**

jake peralta can’t dance. or, at least, that’s what amy santiago has assumed since the moment she began working at the 99th precinct. he seems to always be moving, though. his fingers tap as he works, and not your typical, bored typing either. there’s some undecipherable pattern, his palm lifting from the desk with a dramatic flare every few seconds, his fingers still bouncing off the air. the beat isn’t static, changing as often as he wills it, if he even has a beat at all.

then there’s the way he walks. mostly it’s just a hop in his step, sometimes he sways. occasionally he’ll pivot in a circle on his heel, caught up in whatever rhythm the cogs in his head seem to operate to.

the first time she actually sees jake attempt to dance, they’ve just come back from a case. he jumps right onto his desk, scooting some of the mess away with his foot. his victory dance is really just a more chaotic version of the way he usually takes up space. he throws his arms out to the side and kicks his feet up in some sort of jig. he has no regard for the lack of music, though charles claps along from his desk, providing some sort of beat. which of course jake ignores entirely.

he tries to pull her into it, leaping down and grabbing her elbow where her arms are crossed over her chest. she’s caught off guard, and jake’s able to lift her hands and spin them around. the precinct has stopped to watch, filled with laughter and cheers. gina lifts her phone in the air to play music, and jake changes his movements slightly. suddenly his feet are working together, and his arms aren’t flapping about.

amy santiago can’t dance. it’s evident as she suddenly can’t keep up with him, her cheeks blushing as he somehow turns her into the fool. she’s released after another moment, stray strands of hair caressing her cheeks, and her heart still pounding. jake is grinning at her as he steps away, miraculously sticking to the music, and gives her a little bow.

**2.**

her apartment feels empty without him in it. that fact should frighten her, as they’ve only been dating for a couple of weeks, and she has a full list of things to do on her day off and none of them are getting done. for amy santiago has yet to get out of bed, feeling anxious in the silence of her apartment. it’s doesn’t make sense. her apartment has always been quiet. until it wasn’t.

she’s not one to listen to music through her chores, but she reaches for her phone anyway. there’s playlists hidden away on it. playlists that jake set up but she’s never really listened to. it never made sense to, not when his own phone is usually blaring music anyway, and amy always did prefer the murmur of the news in the background.

but music reminds her of jake now. bad, overplayed music with the same four chords and the same lovesick lyrics and the same rhythms that jake is always swaying to.

it’s what jake walks in on hours later, running late for their plans to watch serve & protect that evening. his girlfriend is humming off-key when she opens the door, smiling bright and pulling him in for a quick kiss. her back pocket is playing taylor swift. laughing, he spins her around and around.

_miss me?_ he asks.

she drags him further into the apartment in answer, a skip in her step. there’s no doubt about it, he brings out a part of her she typically ignores. it’s bothersome in the worst of times, but she’s had a productive week and deserves the reprieve. she reaches up to kiss him again, and he tugs her close, one hand braced on the wall. he moves down her jaw, and she can feel him mumbling the lyrics of the song against her skin as he goes. 

in all of her daydreams, she never expected home to be _you belong with me_ whispered along her breastbone.

**3.**

amy santiago has a problem of stepping on toes. literally, that is, opposed to her husband who has a personal agenda with the figurative sense of the phrase. her _husband_. the word still sounds strange in her mind, tumbling over itself until it doesn’t sound real at all. he’s somewhere on the dance floor, sweeping up guest after guest into his arms like no big deal. amy meets his eyes once over the crowd, then promptly trips over her hem and headbutts her partner in the chest. she half freezes, still slightly bent over, and she can just hear jake laughing over the music.

_are you all right, sergeant?_ holt asks, having paused as well.

because of course she makes the biggest fool of herself in front of her mentor. it makes the past nineteen times she stepped on his feet seem like nothing. she stays looking at the floor for the few moments it takes the song to fade and end, allowing her a fast escape.

_yes, sir. thank you for the dance,_ she says.

jake finds her at the edge of the dance floor as she scurries for a hideaway in the bathroom, catching her at the waist. he rests his head on her shoulder, kissing her collarbone with a smile.

_damn dress_ , she mutters. he laughs and slowly pushes her back towards the center of the dance floor, making some comment about how she’s beautiful. he’s been saying that all day.

he leads them in a slow dance, despite the music that’s starting to pick up as the evening goes on. somehow, with him, she finds herself making the right steps. it’s some odd result of the months she dragged him to dance lessons in preparation of their wedding, having decided early on to make the commitment to learning enough ballroom dances to last through the night. jake reveled in the chance to show off how much he didn’t really need the classes in the first place. 

while amy finally learned enough to keep up with him, though, she was still hopeless with any other partner. the dance instructor called her a lost cause after stepping on his toes one too many times during the last lesson. it didn’t make sense how jake could lead her so effortlessly, not when she was a danger to everyone else’s safety, but things never did quite make sense with jake.

_i guess we’re just made for each other_ , he’d told her.

she guesses he’s right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to send me prompts/yell with me on tumblr @johnnydora!! i love you all <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: peraltiago (duh) + 19 ? bonus if amy is the one doing the distracting
> 
> 19\. kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing

They mostly come at night, when the dark can twist the shadows into whatever horrors his mind conjures. First they linger at the edges of the room, a silent reminder of their presence. It’s enough to spike his breath, but he can still turn away into the confines of her arms, still wrapped around him in his throes of sleep.

The moon still hangs high when they come for him, lunging across the bed sheets and pulling him down, down until his heart is cold, cold. It wakes him up, clinging to her arm that drops to his waist when he violently jerks upright and folds his knees up and in. Light pours in through the barely ajar bedroom door, its stripe illuminating the sweat by his hairline, his brown eyes blown wide.

“Jake?” The arm retreats a little as she shifts, gazing up at him.

He closes his eyes at the sound of her voice, the last of the shadows scurrying away in her wake. “I’m good. Go back to sleep.”

Instead she sits up, like he knew she was going to do anyway, like she has every night since he was finally sent back home. Her arms trail up and around his shoulders, and she presses her face into his neck. She knows about the shadows, thinking them to be the typical prison horrors.

He knows them to be more than that. A steady threat to pull him away again, to pull Amy away again.

She presses a kiss to his collarbone, to his shoulder. “You’re home now,” she whispers, trailing more gentle kisses where she can reach.

When she pulls him back down with her, holding him closely against the night, he knows this to be true. Home’s not the floral quilt illuminated by the thin stream of light, or the yellow city light converged against the curtains, or even the photos clipped along the opposite wall of smiles and accomplishments and faces. It’s her breath by his ear, her lips still hovering by his skin, her fingers softly tracing three words over his stomach as she drifts off again.

Sometimes, they come during soft evenings after work, appearing even through overhead kitchen lights and the glow of the television. He can feel their tendrils reaching and cutting him off from everyone he loves once more. Amy’s there before he reaches the worst of it, always, her arms shift themselves around his torso and her lips find his skin.

He chokes around her name, fingers clawing around her wrists lest the shadows win out again.

“Breathe, Jake.” She presses kisses to his cheek and nose. “Focus on me.” Her hands support him as he falls slowly to the floor and curls into her reach. “I’m right here.”

And she keeps sprinkling him with kisses from the top of his head to his forehead and down, down until she meets his lips and it’s warm, warm. He keeps his eyes on hers when he’s brave enough to open them and find the kitchen empty of shadows. She smiles at him, and he urges her into his lap where he can hold her until the final dark thoughts abandon his mind.

Dinner is a bit late that night, but they don’t mind. Not when they’re still able to eat it together.

Once, they come in the middle of the day, reaching for him at his desk while he slowly continues typing and hoping they leave him alone, leave his friends alone.

“Jake,” Amy says. She’s watching him from across their desks, worry in her eyes, and he hates that. Hates that the shadows can reach her like that, too. “Could you help me with something for a minute?”

She stands up and waits for him to follow. Always, always, he wants to go where she goes. Her hand tightens around his as she leads him to the evidence lockup, and somewhere, someone might be making a joke about them getting a room because it’s not so often they show any sign of their relationship in the precinct. And maybe Amy responds that that’s _exactly_ what they’re doing because it’s something Jake would say, and she wants desperately for him to say it himself.

Do the shadows know she loves him too much to let him succumb to them?

The moment the door closes behind them, she pulls him to her and slides her hands under the back of his shirt where she can write reassurance after reassurance into his skin. He holds her just as tightly, his forehead dropping to meet hers so it’ll be harder to discern his tears.

“You’re okay,” she whispers, tracing his spine. She presses two kisses under his jaw, one for each word. “I love you.” A kiss to his cheek, beside his eye, his temple.

She continues as he folds farther into her, caging her slightly against the wall. She hates them, she does. Everyone who’s ever let him fear being alone.

“I’m—” she kisses the corner of his mouth “—right—” his upper lip “—here.”

He captures her lips in the end, his hands drawing her even closer by her hips. His grip is firm, and he kisses her hard enough to make her gasp for breath, but he’s shaking underneath it all. Drawing away, she frames his face with her hands and presses softer and softer kisses to his lips until he’s relaxing into her.

She can see it in his eyes, but he says it anyway. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much, too,” she says, and presses a final kiss to his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to send me prompts/yell with me on tumblr @johnnydora!! i love you all <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thunder-dor asked: #6 - Jake and Amy for the kiss meme!
> 
> 6\. lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up

She feels it first, before any of her other senses awaken. It’s somewhere in her heart, she thinks, radiating slowly through her and warming her more than her daily dose of coffee ever could. Then it’s the ring on her finger, most likely indenting on her finger from where it’s trapped under Jake’s shoulder. She’s shifting before she processes it, her elbow bracing against his stomach, and her eyes blink open briefly to look at it and smile. But then she’s drifting under again in the soft morning light, falling a bit haphazardly over her fiancé.

His lips twitch under the sudden attack of her hair, and he brushes it away in one or two attempts with the arm Amy hasn’t taken hostage. She giggles softly when his fingers remain on her face, trailing lazy lines on her forehead before she tucks her head further into him, denying him access. When he mutters an indignant complaint, she ghosts kisses to his chest and turns her head slightly to the side.

At best, they’ve gotten nearly two hours of sleep (it was a long night of drinks and phone calls and congratulations and holding each other close, closer.) And while the sheets cocooned around her are warm and intoxicating, the lulls of sleep aren’t what has her longing to stay in just a little bit longer. His skin is warm against hers, and she knows that she’ll have the rest of her life to wake up next to him (and share coffee mugs and car rides and walks to the bodega and late nights on the couch and talking late into the night until their voices fade and fall over and over again.) But she wants this morning, right now, with her head still floating— _I love you I love how smart you are I love how beautiful you are_ —and her smile from last night still shining.

Jake rolls over suddenly, pressing her into the mattress, and mumbles something along the lines of _stop thinking so loudly_. She presses her lips against his cheek, eyelashes fluttering against his skin as she tries to fight the morning drowsiness long enough to see his face, but he brushes a hand over her ribs in that way that he knows makes her squeal. And she does, trying to turn away from him, but he’s annoyingly blocked her in.

“Shhh,” he whispers against her skin, getting his revenge against her earlier onslaught of kisses. “’M trying to sleep.”

“We’re gonna be late for work,” she whispers back, aware of his lips drifting slowly closer to hers.

He closes the gap, mostly just resting his lips over hers than a proper kiss as he smiles. “I got us the day off weeks ago.”

And then he’s shifting to lie more comfortably beside her, his lips finding a new home against her neck. She frowns, but burrows closer to him with her hands tucked between their chests for warmth. She can feel the sliver of cold where her ring interrupts the contact, and she experimentally runs it over his skin, the feel of it in the soft embrace of morning different than the rush of emotions from the previous night. He falters against her touch.

She stills, though, his warmth and heartbeat under her palm luring her back to sleep. Her thoughts are swimming to her, something about love and home and how adorable her fiancé is for requesting the day off after his proposal, and one final, goofy smile graces her cheeks.

“Love you,” she manages, and her head falls just a bit more into the grasps of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to send me prompts/yell with me on tumblr @johnnydora!! i love you all <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: someone close to amy dies, jake (and maybe kids) do their best to get her through it.

When Detective Peralta steps through the doors of Brooklyn’s 61st precinct, he’s greeted with a smile. “Jake! It’s so lovely to see you again. She’s in a meeting right now, but I’ll let her know you’re here!”

“Thank you, Lucy.” He tries his best, but his own smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

It’s nearly twenty minutes before the captain’s door opens and Amy steps out, shaking hands with the man exiting her office. She smiles, too, when she sees Jake, and he almost drops to the floor there and then. He vowed to preserve her happiness, until death do them apart, and he hasn’t broken that promise in five years. Today, he will.

“Hey, babe! We didn’t have plans today, did we?” In the quick moment she takes to check her watch, Jake lets his smile drop. “It can’t be your lunch break already.”

“No, actually, I’m still on the job.”

He slides past her, without the usual kiss on her cheek, and closes the door behind her when she follows. The light filtering in through the windows is clear and bright, a beautiful spring morning. Just a few hours ago, Amy was opening the windows in the kitchen, little Sadie in her arms, pointing out the new sprouts blooming after the heavy winter. She was smiling, laughing, sprinkling kisses over Jake’s face before they left for work. It was supposed to be a happy day. 

“You should sit down.”

He directs her to one of the seats in the back of the room where he can sit next to her, hold her hand between his.

“Jake?” He won’t meet her eyes. “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Carlos was found dead Tuesday evening.” 

There’s a moment where Amy’s face falls, but she builds it back up, and takes her hand from his. “Okay,” she says. “Is that all?” 

He watches her stand up, rearrange a few items on her desk that were already straight. 

“Amy.”

“You should get back to the 99. I’ll see you tonight.” 

And she smiles, teeth white and eyes shining. Jake takes a deep breath.

“Yeah. See you tonight.”

She’s home before he is, which isn’t a surprise. It was her turn to pick up the kids from daycare. One of them comes running at him before he can close the door, her pigtails flying. He swoops her up in the air, dangling her upside down just a little until she squeals.

“Hey, peanut, how was your day?”

As she tells him something about the robot they built out of recycled materials, Jake wanders further into the apartment. The television is on, playing one of Bella’s shows. The kitchen is empty except for some animal crackers left under the cabinet.

“Where’s Mama?” he asks, flying the four-year-old back to the couch.

She screeches until he plops her down. “Napping.”

“And your sister?”

“Napping.”

She’s getting engrossed back into her tv show, so he knows he has to act fast to get any information out of her.

“Did you have anything to eat?”

“Shh, Daddy.” 

He leans over the couch to kiss her cheek, even if she pushes him away a little. On his way down the hall, he checks on Sadie first, who’s sound asleep in her crib. Amy, however, is wide awake in bed and staring at the ceiling. Gently, he climbs in next to her. 

“How you doing?”

She doesn’t answer for a while, so he turns his head to look at her.

“Mom called.” She drifts her eyes down to meet his. “The funeral’s next weekend.”

When he reaches for her hand, she drifts closer, curling into his chest. She’s motionless against him, her breath steady, and he knows she isn’t crying. Hasn’t cried yet. He thought he’d seen her and all of her ways—screaming rage and silent tears and that small smile when she can’t meet your gaze. He’s never seen her lose a brother.

“Do you need anything?”

“They identified him this morning,” she whispers. “Why did it take so long?”

“Ames—”

“I need to know how it happened.”

The air grows darker around them, pressing down. Or perhaps that’s his lungs, collapsing under the weight of his knowledge of the crime. Seeing the body, bloody and crushed halfway under the car. Jake runs his hand down her back, hoping she can’t tell that they’re shaking.

“It was a hit and run. Literally, the man climbed out of his totaled car and ran.” He stops to take a deep breath. When he was first assigned the case to find the runaway, he laughed. _Run, run, as fast as you can, Toyota-man!_ His throat tightens, and he presses a small kiss to the top of Amy’s head. An apology. “Carlos was just a pedestrian, caught in the middle.”

“Why could no one identify him?” 

“He—he was hit pretty bad.”

“How bad?”

He moves his lips to her forehead. “I don’t think—”

“I have a right to know.”

His arm is thrown off her as she gets up and starts pacing the floor. She’s mad now. He just watches, waits for her to slow down, maybe collapse and start sobbing. Her feelings always go in and out like waves, and he can’t tell what to expect next. But she stops, sits back on the bed by his feet. 

“I have a right to know,” she whispers again.

He’s about to sit up and join her at the end of the bed, but their door squeaks open, and Bella pushes her face through the crack.

“Is it dinner time?”

Amy scoops her up with a smile. “Of course, mi reina. What do you want?”

As “marshmallows!” trails down the hall, Jake rubs a hand down his face. He stays there until the pizza delivery man arrives.

It’s not even two days until Amy gets her hands on the case file. He recognizes it immediately—it was on his desk only two hours ago. She’s hunched over the coffee table, spoon feeding bananas to Sadie as she goes. He’d heard her greet him when he came in through the door, but he still approaches cautiously, sitting gently by her feet. 

“Where’d you get that?”

“Rosa.”

Amy flips to the next page, and he silently takes over banana duty.

It’s another three days when her steady facade falters. They took the girls out to the city today—Bella loves staring up at the skyscrapers, and she swears she’s going to build her own next year when she’s all grown up. She’s dancing through a little play fountain when Jake catches Amy fiddling with something in her purse.

He leans forward to press a kiss to her cheek, stealing a glance down as he does. Amy notices the moment she’s been caught.

“I haven’t opened it,” she says.

“Okay.”

“I don’t even carry a lighter anymore.”

He knows. She threw them all away the second they learned she was pregnant the first time around. Leaning his head against hers, he slips the cigarette box out of her hands and intertwines his fingers with hers instead. For a moment, he thinks she’s finally about to cry, but then she shifts away from him, and calls for Bella to come over. It’s time to head home. 

Sometimes, she moves slowly. Like in the mornings when she waits for the third alarm before rising to her feet and starting her day, putting in a little less effort than usual. Other times, she’s unstoppable. Juggling two kids at once and managing three other chores at the same time. 

Only once does she acknowledge her feelings on the matter, when they’re tucked in bed with the lights off. She mumbles into his chest, “Why did it have to be him?”

He doesn’t have an answer to that. 

The funeral is louder than he anticipated. It makes sense, with the entire Santiago clan, including relatives he’s never even heard of, milling around and spreading condolences. Jake’s on daughter duty for the most part, watching from a distance and not getting too involved. But it’s hard to ignore the lump in his throat after his sixth brother-in-law says hello, and he keeps expecting the seventh that will never show. 

He watches Amy drift slowly around, though she never strays too far from him. Every few minutes she returns to his side for a quick break. But she always puts a smile back on, braving herself for the next overbearing hug.

“You don’t have to be strong, y’know.” It’s something he’s been telling her every day since the accident.

She just puts on another smile. “I’m fine. Really.”

The first time Jake cries, Bella’s tugging on his sleeve as the immediate family gathers around the coffin with flowers.

“Where’s Tio Carlos?” she asks.

They tried to explain it before the funeral, sitting down with her and introducing the concept of an afterlife—they never wanted to force a religion on their children, but it was the only explanation they had. She only shrugged it off, asked if she could wear her light up sneakers instead of the boring Mary Janes.

So he stays silent and holds her closer to him, pressing kiss after kiss to her hair. She puts up with it for a few moments, then wriggles out of his grasp.

“Can I throw a flower, too?”

He sneaks a final kiss onto her nose, and decides it’s not worth the fight to keep her in her seat.

“Go ask Mama.” He sets her free.

It’s one month after the accident when Amy wakes up shaking and sweaty. Jake frowns as he slowly becomes conscious—he’s always been slow to wake—and throws a hand loosely in his wife’s direction before he manages to regain full function of his limbs and pull himself up to firmly wrap his arms around her.

“Breathe, Ames.” His lips ghost over the shell of her ear.

She takes a staggering breath in, then falls into him, sobs wracking her frame. He continues whispering in her ear, breathing through his mouth to encourage her to match his breaths. Though his hands are shaking where they trace her skin. He’s used to her occasional panic attack and her less often night terrors, but he’s never seen her quite this far gone. 

It all stops abruptly, and Jake lifts her from him to look into her eyes. He recognizes what she needs instantly, and pulls her with him off the bed. They only make it just past the bathroom door before she’s heaving and vomiting onto the tiles at her feet. Her knees buckle, and he carries her the few feet to the toilet before setting her down.

“Deep breaths,” he reminds her, pulling back her hair and securing it with an elastic band. He kisses her temple before fetching her a glass of water, then goes to clean up the bathroom floor as well.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers.

He sits behind her when he’s done, stroking her back as she continues emptying out the contents of her stomach.

“What for?” he asks when she’s done, leaning back into him and away from the toilet.

She doesn’t have an answer for him, just turns her head into his chest and relearns how to breathe.

The nightmares aren’t a constant, but they return every once in a while. Some nights, they stay up talking, taking turns sharing their fears, what they’re grateful for. One night, Bella pokes her head through the door, tears on her face. 

Jake beckons her towards him, pulls her up into his lap.

“What’s wrong, peanut?”

She grabs his shirt into fists, stealing glances at Amy. “Is Mama okay?”

He glances at her, too. She’s still against Jake’s side, but she curled more into the pillows when Bella arrived. Her head is turned away, though, probably to keep Bella from seeing her tears. 

“Mama just misses Tio Carlos,” he says.

Bella crawls forward, trying to wrap her arms around her mother’s middle. “It’s okay, Mama. He’s in the heaven. It’s good. It has ice cream.”

There’s a moment where Amy’s breath catches, then she’s turning back towards Bella and enveloping her in her arms. Jake leans in and surrounds them both, and there they remain. For a little while.

“Mama?” Bella whispers. “Mama, mama, mama?”

“What is it, mi reina?”

“Can we have ice cream, too?”

She smiles and wipes away her tears. No more seem to follow.

“Of course.”

On their way to the kitchen, Jake grabs a sleeping Sadie then sits down with her on the floor, his back against the counters. Bella jumps around, way too hyper for three in the morning, so Jake tugs her down, too. Tells her stories about the ice cream monster.

Amy joins them with three giant bowls of ice cream moments later, settling down on Jake’s other side. She leans her head against his shoulder as he finishes his wild tales, tickling Bella with his free hand at the finale. Amy laughs along, her fingers tracing along Sadie’s head. He’s a bit delirious, a bit sleep deprived, but he’s certain it’s the happiest he’s ever been. 

As for Amy, she never has a nightmare about her brother again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to send me prompts/yell with me on tumblr @johnnydora!! i love you all <3
> 
> also shoutout to @santiagostyle for uploading this ytb


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to a headcanon post I made on tumblr about how nonsensical the Halloveen cold open is.

If you were standing on the fire escape that Monday night, dangling rather precariously from the rusting ladder, and looking into apartment 34B, you wouldn’t notice anything out of place. The television would be glowing softly, in the middle of an ambiguous commercial, illuminating the living room, strewn with empty takeout boxes. A young couple appears to be drifting off on the couch, and if you had come here to rob them, you might think you were in luck.

But behind their closed eyes, each one is wide awake. And although her head is tucked tight within his shoulder, Amy Santiago has been keeping track of everything from her boyfriend’s breathing to the commercial that ended up trying to sell a new car. Her arm is strategically snug around his stomach, gauging the rise and fall with each of his breaths, her legs snug over his in case he tries to rise without rousing her.

He’s got a hand firm against her back for the same reason, keeping her nearly too close for comfort. It’s a strange game they’re playing, toeing the line between intimacy and competition.

“Tired?” she asks. It’s nine o’clock at night.

Jake Peralta blinks open one eye. “No. You?”

She tucks back into his chest instead, and reaches for the remote to raise the volume. Jeopardy is up next.

He runs a hand down her back at ten. “Time for bed?”

“I’m good.”

Back and forth they go, both too unwilling to reveal what they might be planning for tomorrow. Amy has gone through the tab in her secret binder hundreds of times within the past year, adding her speculations of Jake’s (frankly, juvenile) plans to the subsection. It’s how she knows he’s already set seven alarms for the following morning, and her seven more directly before his.

He seems nervous in the subtle ways, like the lazy circles he’s rubbing over her spine (they’re usually more heart-shaped) and the rhythmic tapping of his foot (which is quicker than normal). It makes her heart jump, the edge she has on him. This is her year again.

Although it’s real, his nerves, Jake’s done double the work to ensure his girlfriend doesn’t have the faintest clue as to why.

It’s midnight when they first grudgingly agree to get some sleep, staying close to one another while also playing at the edge of caution. She consents to a kiss—or a few—before turning away on her side of the bed. And while neither of them intend to be the first to succumb to unconsciousness, Jake’s been conditioned to be lulled to Amy’s steady breathing and her hand loosely over his hip.

It’s nearly one in the morning when that arm slips away, Amy tugging herself out of bed and beginning a basic morning routine. She hasn’t entirely confirmed what Jake’s first action will be, but she intends to be prepared. With everything adorned except her badge, she curls back into bed with the covers pulled to her chin, her watch set to vibrate ten minutes before three, and reluctantly convinces herself to get a chance of a good night’s rest.

Meanwhile, Jake stirs at two o’clock, from the oven alarm he set off while Amy trudged ahead of him earlier that night. He spares the slightest glance at her as he carefully pries himself out of bed, careful not to disturb her. She has never missed a night of sleep in the years he’s known her, and he counted on that. While he sneaks back to the kitchen, his stomach rumbles, and the image of sunny-side eggs implants in his mind. After the briefest of considerations—the memory of bacon in the fridge infringes upon his rational thinking—he grabs a pan.

As he’s tucking himself back into bed, his plate of eggs just beside him, the sheer exhaustion of several nights spent up planning hits him much too hard. Ten minutes later, when Captain Holt unlocks their apartment with his “honorary dad key” courtesy of a very drunk Jake and tiptoes through the open bedroom door, the couple is completely sound asleep.

He stands at the foot of their bed, and with as little disturbance as he can manage, surveys the scene. To none of his surprise, Jake is sprawled half off the bed, fully dressed (but with his left shoe untied, Holt notes with some disdain) and Amy, who he nearly considered an admirable opponent, is lying straight as a conductor’s wand. Even in her sleep, she’s a miserable liar. It’s hard not to chuckle despite himself; he has this year’s heist in the palm of his hand.

What does manage to catch him off guard, however, is the untouched plate of eggs between the two. Having missed breakfast himself (Kevin refused to comply with his strategies and even bade him and Cheddar to the guest room for the night), Holt took the plate for himself, finished it off rather quickly (it was unsalted—delicious), and with an audible chuckle this time, replaced the plate, and tucked it in with his detectives.

The array was amusing, and he surveyed it for approximately half a minute from the decorative corner chair, when Amy stirred. He stilled, and watched as she rubbed her eyes, stretched slightly, and checked her watch. The digital glow lit up her smile, and luckily for Holt, probably blinded her from seeing him looming not too far away.

Like clockwork, an alarm blared at a second past three, turned off by Jake, who was greeted by Amy, and revealed the empty plate. There have been few expressions as satisfying to Holt in his career, and he caught the Balloon-Nosed Clown, and he couldn’t keep his presence a secret any longer.

With his mission completed (aha! Those two fools will never keep up with him now!) he lifted his briefcase and made back for the door.

“Sir?” Santiago followed him to the hall, a confused and bedraggled Jake left sitting on the bed behind them. “Would you care for some coffee?”

“Oh, well, yes. Thank you, Detective.”

Her composure shifted in seconds, finally shaking off the few hours of sleep and regaining her wariness around not one, but two opponents, and she strode past him with half a glance and a stern, “Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to send me prompts/yell with me on tumblr @johnnydora!! i love you all <3


End file.
